From: Tory Anderson 
Date: Sun, 10 Oct 1999 01:13:32 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: New story - "If You Sleep"
Source: direct


If You Sleep (1/1)
by Tory Anderson
tory_anderson@yahoo.com

Rating:   PG - coarse language
Category: VA
Spoilers: Tithonus
Keywords: Scully/Mulder UST, Character Death.
Summary:  Post-Tithonus.  What if things hadn't turned

out so well?

Notes:  I was feeling incredibly depressed this
evening and decided to exorcise it in a story.  I
don't know when Tithonus took place, and I don't care
enough to poke around my tapes and find out.

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  The title of this little fic
was shamelessly ripped off Tal Bachman's self-titled
CD.  It's beautiful - go buy it.

Just so you know - 1st person indicates present time, 
and 3rd person is in the past.  It's kind of obvious, 
but hey, *I* got confused and I'm the author!

X-*-X
Mulder's apartment
December 31, 1999

     I always thought that I'd be celebrating this New

Year's Eve.  Scratch that.  I *knew* I was going to.
After all, it's the Millennium.  Y2K and all that 
bullshit.

     Usually, I don't give much thought to going to
any parties on the last day of December.  The last one
I went to, I got totally smashed and I still can't 
remember if I brought two blondes home with me or a 
blonde and a brunette.

     It doesn't matter.  The only woman who fills my 
thoughts now has hair the colour of fire and sunsets 
and some tastier cocktails.

     Had.  She *had* hair like that.

     I'm surprised at the coolness of the metal
against my flesh.  But maybe I shouldn't be.  This
isn't the first time I've held my own gun to my own
head.  But this time, I have nothing left to live for.
 No purpose in my life.  Any meaning to living faded
away in a narrow hospital bed about seven months ago. 
Even Samantha doesn't seem a good enough reason to
live, not without *her* there by my side, searching
for my sister with me.

     I can feel my eyes tear up again, the salty water

burning the already irritated cells.  God*dammit*!  I 
can't stop crying.  I can't stop missing her.  And 
still, I can't stop loving her.  She was that kind of 
woman.   

     My eyes fall shut as I remember that awful,
chilly day in New York, seven months ago...

X-*-X
May 7, 1999
Manhattan General Hospital
7:35 pm

     "Come on...come on..."  Mulder cursed under his 
breath at the elevator doors before him.  He ran a 
shaking hand through his knotty hair, only tangling it

further.  But he had no time for trivialities such as 
that - not when his entire world lay dying only three 
floors up.

     And the fucking elevator doors wouldn't open. 
 
     Finally, they parted, and Mulder slipped in, 
jabbing the '3' with his finger.  There was no one
else in there with him, and he was glad.  He certainly
didn't feel like conversing with anyone else.  Not
when he didn't even know if she was dead or not.

     Please, God, I know I haven't been as good as I 
could have been, but I swear to you, I will do 
anything, *anything* at all if you just let her
live...

     A fierce knot of pain built in his chest as he 
watched the digital readout - L...1...2...3...and 
finally the elevator dinged and he rushed out.  The 
halls were crammed with doctors, patients, and
visitors but Mulder paid them no heed.  He had only
one thought - to get to Scully, now.

     "Sir, please slow down..." someone called in
vain.  Mulder sped up, arriving out of breath at the
ICU.  He leaned against the nurses' station counter,
trying to catch his breath and talk to the
concerned-looking nurse before him.  

     "My name... my name is Fox Mulder....I received a

telephone call.  My partner, Dana Scully was admitted 
into emergency with a gunshot wound and they told me
she was moved up here..."

     The nurse's brown eyes filled with something that

was not hope-inspiring to Mulder.  It was a
combination of compassion, pity, and grief.  "Dana
Scully, right.  Room 371.  Her mother's in with her
now, I believe."

     It did not dawn on Mulder until later how casual 
the staff has been with his visiting Scully.  Every
time he'd been to a hospital before, they'd raised
such a fuss and quoted chapter and verse to him on
visiting hours.  He did not realize that this time, he
was given this freedom because the staff knew that
soon, Dana Scully would be having no more visitors.

X-*-X
Mulder's apartment
December 31, 1999

     My hand tightens around the gun as it did around 
Scully's limp fingers.  I shut my eyes tightly against

that image.  The picture of Scully I want to take with

me to death is not one of her, pale and comatose, but
as I always remembered her, strong and fearless.  

     Just wait, Scully, I'll be with you soon... just 
wait a little while longer...

     I've known for a while that it would end up like 
this.  I suppose I should have gotten counseling, or 
something.  But I know what I want.

     No more pain.  No more memory.  But the memory 
won't be pushed away.  It sits there, like a sad
little ghost in the back of my mind.

X-*-X
May 7, 1999
Manhattan General Hospital

     "Mrs. Scully?"  Mulder asked, "How are you?"

     Margaret looked up, startled.  Mulder frowned at 
the sight of her face, worn and tired and streaked
with tears and mascara.  She dropped her head to stare
at her folded hands in her lap.  In her fingers was
twisted a string of beads.

     Rosaries.  She was praying for Dana.

     "Two daughters."  She said hoarsely, her voice 
roughened by crying.  "Both shot to death."

     The words hit Mulder like a two-by-four, right in

the gut.

     "But...Dana isn't *dying*...is she?"  He didn't
know if he wanted to hear the answer.  "I mean, she
was shot in the stomach...the paramedics were called 
immediately...blood transfusions..." His voice
faltered.

     The older woman's eyes shut wearily.  And that
was all the answer Mulder needed.

     "Fuck!" he swore, his mounting anger obliterating

any reticence he might have held over using such 
language before Scully's mother.  "I'm gonna kill that

fucking brown-nosed son-of-a-bitch!"  Mulder was all
but drawing his gun and pounding out to hunt down
Peyton Ritter when he felt warm fingers close around
his wrist.

     "Fox," Margaret said.  "It isn't going to help
her.  The doctors say she's gone into a coma.  They
tried operating but... but they say to continue would
end up doing more damage than good.  It won't be long
now."

     "God," he gasped, collapsing into a chair beside 
Scully's bed, the anger and adrenaline suddenly
draining out of him, leaving exhaustion in its wake. 
He leaned over to look at her face - {she's pale, so
pale... like paper.  And her lips are so dry, they're
cracking...I should get her some vaseline}.

     He reached out and stroked her hand, slipping his

fingers between hers, feeling the cool slickness of
her
nails slide against his flesh.  {Scully...}  To add to

his further mortification before Scully's mother, he 
felt his lower lip begin to tremble like a five-year-
old's, a sure sign of the onslaught of tears.  But he 
was past the point of no return.  Mulder had been
riding an emotional roller coaster ever since Scully
had been given the stupid assignment.  Jealousy,
loneliness, bitterness, curiosity, worry, pain, fear,
love.  They were all beginning to surface and Mulder
was powerless to stop them.

    "Oh god, Scully," he whimpered, burying his
dripping face in the crook that formed in her bent
elbow.  Margaret slipped out, unnoticed.  "Scully, I'm
so sorry, I should never have let you take that
assignment or go to Felig's alone...and it's all my
fault and *god* I'm so sorry... I never wanted to hurt
you and that's all you've been doing is hurting since
you met me...and now I've killed you...I've killed you
but I love you... god, Scully, I love you so much...
I've never been able to tell you and now I never will
but all I've done since I met you was love you and
want you and need you...oh Scully, I'm so sorry,
please, *please.*"  The last words dissolved into
a sob.  He gasped for breath amid his cries, wishing, 
expecting, that Scully's hand would come up and stroke

his head, comforting him, as it had so many times in
the past.  

     But the comfort never came.

     After a few minutes, his tears slowed into
whimpers and the occasional hitching of breath.  He
looked up, hoping unrealistically against all hope,
that Scully would be smiling down at him, telling him
that it was only a *gunshot wound* for chrissakes and
to stop his hovering and get her a glass of water.

     But of course, she lay there, motionless, her 
beautiful blue eyes closed and her bright red hair
lying complacent on the pillow beneath her.

     And that's when the reality really struck him.  
Mulder was the sort that believed in fairies, in the
Easter Bunny, in Santa Claus, believed amidst all the 
jeering laughs and pitying condescensions, believed 
right up the the horrible moment of truth when 'Santa'

pulled off his beard to reveal his Dad's familiar
face.
And Mulder had believed, had held hope that Scully 
wasn't *really* dying, that the doctors had made some 
horrible mistake and that any minute, Mrs. Scully
would rush in, beaming, and wasn't it great news? 
Dana wasn't in as dire straits as they had feared.

     But no doctors came, Mrs. Scully didn't rush in, 
smiling, and his partner was most certainly hours away

from death.

     "I'm sorry," he said, one last time, his voice
and his heart breaking.

X-*-X
May 7, 1999
Manhattan General Hospital
10:05 pm

     "Mulder?"  the deep, rough voice startled Mulder 
out of an uneasy sleep.  He blinked, once, twice,
until the face of AD Skinner came into view.

     "Sir?" he croaked.  "How did you- why-?"

     "Agent Scully was one of the finest agents I've 
ever had the pleasure of working with.  This was a 
tragic mistake - and one that is being dealt with 
accordingly."

     "Ritter?"

     "Leave without pay until we can pull together a 
review board.  I can tell you now, though, it's likely

he'll be tossed out of the FBI for good.  You can't
make these sorts of mistakes and still be a good field

agent."  Skinner said softly, regret tingeing his
voice.

     "You can't make a *mistake* like this and still
be able to live with yourself."  Mulder closed his
eyes.

     His ex-boss was silent for a few moments before 
replying, "Mulder, whatever motives or regrets you may
ascribe to Agent Ritter...the truth is, it was an 
accident.  A horrible, terrible accident - but an 
accident nonetheless.  The sooner you accept that, the

easier it'll be to move on.  There's nothing you can 
do."

     Mulder whispered the words so quietly, so softly 
beneath his breath, that Skinner had to lean forward
to
hear, and even then barely caught it: "I can never
move on."

X-*-X
Mulder's apartment
December 31, 1999

     And it's true.  I don't think I have.  My every 
moment - asleep and awake - is occupied with Dana 
Scully.  Some thoughts are beautiful; remembering the 
happy times, the laughs we shared together, the sly 
inside jokes and innuendoes;  other thoughts are sad,
regretful - I'll never know what it's like to kiss
her,
to taste her, to cry out with her in ecstasy as our 
bodies dance toward completion.  At first, I was angry

a lot - why, Scully?  How could you leave me, all
alone?  You knew I couldn't live for a second without
you.  But recently, I have come to realize that it's
not her fault.  It's not anybody's fault - not mine,
nor the pitiful ex-Agent Ritter's.  

     Because now I am hopeful.  Hope of seeing Scully 
again soon - perhaps in a next life, or in the Heaven 
she so fervently believes in.  Her faith meant so much

to her, and to her mother.  It came to mean so much to

me, too, that I sat quietly by her side, gripping one 
of her cool hands as a priest gravely read her her
Last
Rites.

X-*-X
May 7, 1999
Manhattan General Hospital
11:38 pm

     The intervals between the high-pitched beeps from

the heart monitor were getting longer.  Scully's chest

rose and feel irregularly, and her breaths were much 
more shallow.

     An older man, dressed in the clerical collar,
stood at the foot of the hospital bed, Bible in hand. 
Mrs. Scully sat on the other side of the bed, holding 
Scully's left hand while Mulder tightly gripped her 
right.

     The priest stopped his reading, and set the Bible

down on a low table.  He reached out and hugged
Margaret tightly, whispering, "God is watching over
you both."  Margaret nodded, tears streaming down her
face.

     Mulder watched in detachment as the priest bent
and kissed Scully's ever whitening forehead, and left
without another word.

     "Fox," Margaret said softly.  Mulder looked up, 
startled - Mrs. Scully had not uttered a word to him
in hours.  "I want you to know," she continued, "That
I don't think that this is your fault.  Not at all.  I

don't even think that it's that poor man Peyton's
fault.  Some things...just happen, and we can't
explain them.  And... maybe we're not meant to."

     "But she'll never know."  Mulder said sadly.

     "Know what?"

     "She'll never know how much I loved her."  A
small tear rolled down Mulder's cheek.

     "Oh, Fox,"  Margaret said compassionately,
sparing
him a little of her grief, "Of course she knew.  And
she loved you too."  The older woman crossed the room
and knelt beside Mulder's chair, taking his stiff form
into her soft arms.  At the unexpected contact and
comfort, Mulder started crying anew, his tears coming
from a deep, dark, empty part of his soul, a gap that
he feared could never be filled again.  Together, the
lover and the mother cried, united in their grief for
the same remarkable woman who'd irrevocably changed
both their lives.

X-*-X
Mulder's apartment
December 31, 1999

     And it's still there, that gap.  It's a black
hole, sucking light and hope and joy into it.  It's
all that was left of me when Scully died.

     I've heard people describe the death of loved
ones like a body part being cut away - an arm, or
perhaps a leg.  But when Scully died, it was like my
heart had been torn out.  There was nothing left.

     Nothing at all.

     I tried working for a few days - that was a joke.
Everywhere I went in the Hoover building reminded me
of
Scully - the drinking fountain on the third floor
where I'd often see her subtly catching up on her
gossip; the parking garage where we would make movie
rental plans after a long, stressful day; Skinner's
office, where we often sat, justifying one more wild
goose chase.

     I couldn't even bear thinking about going near
our
old office.

     So, I took a few months off.  The phone tonight
has been ringing off the hook - first the Lone Gunmen,

wanting to know if I wanted to come over and hide from

the Y2K disaster with them.  But their voices were 
hollow - Frohike hasn't been the same since spring. 
Strange how much one woman can affect us all.

     Kersh kept calling, wanting to know when I was 
going to get off my ass and get back to work.

     Margaret called once, making sure I was all
right.

     I laugh softly to myself - how ironic.  

     On the table lies a sheet of paper.  I pick it
up;
it's old, worn and ripped in spots.  Some of the ink
has run from the places my tears have landed.  But the
writing, the words are still the same as when Mrs.
Scully first handed it to me, seven months ago.

X-*-X
May 7, 1999
Manhattan General Hospital
11:48 pm

     A few minutes later, when their tears subsided, 
Margaret smiled shakily and withdrew an envelope from 
her pocket.  "Dana wrote this about a year ago - she 
said she wanted me to give it to you - in case...in
case anything should happen."

     Mulder nodded, "Thank you," in a hoarse voice,
and took the envelope.  Margaret rose slowly and
exited the room.  On the front was Mulder's name,
written neatly in Scully's precise script.  He lifted
the flap and unfolded the piece of paper:


Dear Mulder,

     I know that right now, mere words could not be 
enough to soothe your pain.  I know that nothing
could.
I remember how I felt when I believed you were dead, 
when I believed I would never see your face again, or 
hear your voice, or smell your cologne.  My mask was 
cool, grieving yet collected, but inside, there was 
nothing.  But Mulder, it isn't the same for you, no 
matter what you think.  Because however empty and lost
you may feel, you'll always carry my love inside you. 
I need you to, so that my life will have had meaning. 
I love you.  I think I might have always loved you. 
And no matter what path lies ahead of me now, I know
for certain that I always will.


     Fuck.  Mulder dropped the letter on his lap, his 
vision too blurred by tears to possibly continue 
reading.  She loved him.  She'd fucking *loved* him.

     And now it was too late to do anything about it.

     He turned to the still figure on the still bed in

the middle of the still room.  He inched his chair 
closer and grasped her hand in his.  "Scully," he 
whispered, gently, intimately, "Scully... I love you 
too.  I love you."  As Mulder spoke the words, her
body
seemed to relax, as if relieved of a great, tiresome 
burden and now was finally given the opportunity to
rest forever.

     Mulder knew the exact moment she left him,
holding her hand tighter as she drew a deep breath,
then released it on a sighing breath.  Her fingers
drooped in between his.  Her chest and the heart
within it stilled - she was gone.

     Forever.

X-*-X
Mulder's apartment
December 31, 1999

     I can still hear the blaring of the heart
monitor, distant to my ears.  I can still hear the
pounding of the doctor's footsteps, trying to do
something when there was nothing to be done.  But most
of all, I can still hear Margaret's anguished wail,
her cries of "Dana, Dana, my baby..." and the
knowledge that I did this.  I so thoroughly ripped
this family apart and ground them beneath my heel in
the dust.  I killed the only woman I've ever really
loved and, by default, killed everyone who ever loved
her, including myself.

     I thought I could live without her.  I guess I 
can't.

X-*-X



the end. thank you.

Feedback would be deeply appreciated.  
tory_anderson@yahoo.com

By the way, I finally have a new-and-improved website:
http://www.geocities.com/Vienna/Stage/3343/gallery.html
which contains the grand total of all FOUR of my
fanfic stories.  Knock yourself out.

X-*-X

Figure of divine perfection
No one's loved with more affection
Soul to soul we've breathed
Oh I won't let the Fates succeed

Worried hours of contemplation
Whispered bits of conversation
Unaffected orderlies
Disinfected rooms and hallways

And if you sleep, you sleep with God
And if I cry, it's for my heart
Why should I hope to make it through?
'Cause if you sleep, I'll sleep too

Jagged thorns and pretty petals
Butterflies and stinging nettles
Sunny days and nights of blackness
But where's the joy to cure my sadness?

Gleaming cars and covered faces
Teary eyes in hallowed places
Grass and granite stone
No one's been more all alone...

---Tal Bachman "If You Sleep'

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